


watching

by fairbanks



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Manipulation, the ship is honestly just barely there, who knows where canon will take us then, written up to around ep 88-91
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 18:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairbanks/pseuds/fairbanks
Summary: He walks through the doors of The Magnus Institute and is hit with the strangest feeling.Well, 'feelings' would be more accurate, because there's certainly more than one and more than one is certainly more than Jon was expecting at all. He made an armor out of skeptical disbelief long ago, letting it wrap around the raw fear he sometimes still felt like he was eight years old all over again, staring at a closed door and a new lifetime of dread.





	watching

He walks through the doors of The Magnus Institute and is hit with the strangest feeling.

Well, _feelings_ would be more accurate, because there's certainly more than one and more than one is certainly more than Jon was expecting at all. He made an armor out of skeptical disbelief long ago, letting it wrap around the raw fear he sometimes still felt like he was eight years old all over again, staring at a closed door and a new lifetime of dread. 

He didn't believe in 'feelings' out of some magical premeditative place because it shouldn't be. He dissects them anyway because he was never one for the obvious, good decision when curiosity was involved.

The first feeling is one he can't quite place despite working it over briefly in his mind. Later he dismisses it as that strange atmosphere of old buildings coupled with his own expectations. At the time though, were he to give it a name, he'd call it something more like a shudder up his bones, maybe a pull. It's brief and bizarre and _pointless_ so he lets the knowledge fizzle up and die.

The second feeling is of being watched.

Of course he _is_ being watched, he's a university student walking into what tries to be a dignified building despite the naysayers. The man at the front desk is watching him, for example, and Jon makes quick work of walking up to explain he's expected. He's Jonathan Sims, he's been granted access to some material here for a thesis he's working on. He doesn't say how his professors tried to talk him out of this particular thesis. He doesn't bother to explain how everyone who knows his plans and passions have told him not to waste his time on a place like this.

When the receptionist turns away Jon still feels watched, an itch on the back of his neck. He reaches up to scratch out of instinct but pauses, letting his arm fall. He glances to the side and notices a man in the doorway.

The man in question is well put together, suit and tie and all the gravitas of someone with clout and the confidence to back it up. He looks older than Jon- well, Jon knows he must be older at least, even if Jon himself is often mistaken for being far older than he really is. The man doesn't turn away at being caught watching, merely watches still, in such a way that makes Jon feel ridiculously like he must be seeing something Jon cannot.

The man's lips quirk and he finally walks back into the hall, just as the receptionist turns back with Jon's pass.

"Make sure not to go anywhere you aren't authorized, ok? This place can be easy to get lost in."

Jon just nods and goes on his way, putting the strange man out of his mind.

\---

He officially meets Elias on his first day of work.

Research was more cheerful than Jon expected a paranormal and esoteric research branch to be, complete with a little tour for the 'new blood' and donuts at the end. The donuts were dreadful and grocery store bought but the coffee that came with it was strong and black. Jon hangs around the group for what he feels is the polite amount of time before pulling away to nurse his coffee in peace.

"You're Jonathan Sims, aren't you?" A voice is at his side and Jon nearly jumps, coffee lurching dangerously close to the lip of his cheap cup, spilling slightly over his fingers. 

"Jesus- can you try not sneaking up on a man with hot coffee?" Jon bites out, turning and feeling his stomach churn when he recognizes the man standing faintly bemused before him.

It figures he'd snap at his boss on the _first_ day.

"You startled me." It's a weak amendment but Jon prays it will work, because for all the damn work he did to get here he certainly didn't want it to be in vain _this_ early on. To his relief the older man still seems to hold that sliver of amusement as he regards Jon, eyes just as piercing but expression polite. He is the very picture of a put together bureaucrat: composed, dignified and seemingly unremarkable.

 _Handsome_ , but unremarkable.

The thought jars Jon almost as much as the amused exhale from Elias a moment after. "My apologies, I forget the new researchers can be a tad jumpy." Elias holds something out, a napkin Jon quickly takes to clean what little coffee managed to escape down the side of his cup. "First day jitters and all that."

"You ah- you certainly make the coffee strong enough to keep us on our toes." 

It was another weak attempt at small talk but Elias is gracious enough to smile, and Jon takes a moment to dissect his earlier thought. Handsome- it was true enough, Elias was hardly bad looking, it was just unlike Jon to notice such things. Of course he did occasionally, he wasn't completely uninterested in such matters, though it had been quite some time since he even entertained even such a simple, passing thought as the sharp line of his boss' jaw.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Jon doesn't start this time but he does swallow, a movement he could swear Elias follows and _understands_ , as ridiculous as the idea is. "Just ah- just thinking we haven't properly been introduced, even if we know names. Jonathan Sims, good to work with you."

He offers his hand, glad for the excuse to cover his awkwardness, and Elias takes it without hesitation. His shake is firm, everything Jon's grandmother insisted a handshake should be when she taught him such things. ' _I don't care if you think it's daft, Jon, it makes a difference in first meetings._ ' Maybe she was right.

"Elias Bouchard, it will be a pleasure to work together, I'm sure." 

Elias drifts off afterward, introducing himself to the more social of the new blood, laughing and smiling with the sort of polite dignity of a bureaucrat. Jon watches him as he goes for only a moment more than he should and quickly returns to different musings. He forgets the impression of Elias' sharp features and clear eyes within the first week, too absorbed in his work.

\---

For years Jon dismissed smoking as a disgusting habit, the smell more vile to him than the health risks involved. If someone was stupid enough to put that in their body then he had no sympathy for them.

Yes, he realized now the absolute hilarious irony of that particular bout of self righteousness.

Not many people in the Institute smoke, he comes to find, which works well for him because social smoking seemed like a special kind of hell. He wanted his smoke breaks to be quiet affairs, a few moments to breath in his bad decisions as tar into his lungs, not listen to gossip. Funny, he thinks as he pulls out the pack from his pocket, that he hasn't made many friends with an attitude like that. The smoke filled exhale that follows is a dryly amused one.

He pretends it's a whim if asked- _if_ he was asked, which he isn't. He'd say he picked up a pack out of random when running errands and it wouldn't entirely be wrong. He did do that, walking the aisles of a convenience store too brightly fluorescent. He looked at a pack of cigarettes and thought why not? The way the smoke burned on the way down was satisfying in some small way.

His grandmother died a few weeks ago, which was both sad and expected. She was reaching the stage of elderly that made her skin look ill-fitted, and the strong, stern woman who raised him was no longer so sharp. He didn't visit often once he left for school, and she didn't come to visit him. Jon never batted an eye at it, and he assumed she didn't either. It wasn't a distance born from anger or distaste, it was just the sort of people they were. The odd phonecall was more than enough to keep them both satisfied.

Hell, he didn't even take time off work when she passed, simply drove to take care of her things and arrange to have her buried in the family plot on a weekend off. All of her friends were long dead and she had buried her son and her husband. Jon wondered if it was cold not to give her a proper funeral, even if he'd be the only one showing up because she had the misfortune of outliving everyone she loved. He worked another week after that trip before picking up the cigarettes.

Jon's not stupid, he could connect the sudden shift in mood with her death, with his work beginning at the Institute. He enjoys it, of course, but when he closes his eyes at night the pages of that book flash across his eyelids, closer than they've ever been. Here people speak of Leitner and _know._ It's both validating and overwhelming.

The Institute has a back entrance to an alley, the absolute picture of a grungy smoking spot. Maybe the reason Jon never sees people during his smoke breaks is because he picked such an unpleasant place to take them, and the only thing he regrets is there wasn't a proper place to sit. Even leaning against the walls was suspect, brick so old he was sure the back of his jacket would come away dusty.

He breaths in smoke and thinks, in passing, he still hadn't changed his emergency contact. He didn't really have an emergency contact, did he? Maybe Georgie, once upon a time, but they hardly left each other on good terms. What did you say to the bureaucrat in charge of that sort of thing? Yeah, my emergency contact's gone now but that was what I had, I'll get back to you. 

His quiet laugh is muffled by the door opening beside him.

There's an apology on Jon's tongue, some half formed thought that a janitor or something was coming through and this wasn't a place Jon should be. Instead Elias emerges, so neat and polished it's jarring against the grunge of the alley. Jon swallows the words and nearly chokes on smoke.

"That's a nasty habit." He's more used to Elias now, not immediately driven to a faint panic at the sight of his new boss. Still, something about Elias is like a professor with your grade in his hands, stuffy but authoritative. The fact he was disappointed in you actually held some power.

Which he certainly seemed as he regards Jon's cigarette. Jon allows himself a cough, throat dry and rough from the smoke. "You're not really going to lecture me, are you? I'm about a decade too old for it."

"You're really not, Jon, but I'll spare you this time."

"Then why are you here?"

Elias doesn't answer, at least not at first, simply plucks the cigarette from Jon's fingers like he had the right to. Maybe he did, or maybe Jon was smart enough not to sass his boss anymore than he already had, because he says nothing as Elias drops the cigarette to the dirty ground and crushes it under his heel.

"There's something I wanted to discuss with you, come with me, won't you?" Elias asks and he does, following out of the dirty alley and back into the Institute without a word. 

Within a few days he buys a box of nicotine patches. It was a disgusting habit, after all.

\---

"Don't talk to me, I hate you." Maybe he should actually turn and make sure it was Elias who walked in, and maybe Jon should think twice about sniping at his boss, but he couldn't bring himself to care. All around were boxes and files and a numbering system that took him a good hour to make sure he understood. 

Everyone was congratulating him for the promotion but all he could see, at the moment, was being passed a mess.

Elias' footsteps clack sharply on the stone, punctuated by the amused exhale that at least means Jon hadn't crossed a line yet. To be fair it was rather difficult to cross a line with Elias, he had a knack for staring you down before you could even toe it. "Something wrong, Jon? You seem stressed."

The humor in the tone does nothing for Jon's temper and he shuts the file he was trying to read the chicken scratch writing of to glower at Elias. "How did you let it get this bad? Honestly, Elias, did you all just leave Gertrude in here and hope for the best?"

"Is it too much for you?"

The question is simple, not a threat so much as a bored challenge that Jon's fairly certain he's reading into. It works though, of course it works, the budding temper fizzling out under his feet. "I didn't say _that._ "

"Good, I'd hate to think you weren't up for the job. I have very high hopes for you, Jon." There was something in that tone that should have been patronizing and yet Jon doesn't rise to the bait. Instead he's pleased, in some small way, maybe the same way he was when he first tried out his new title in his mind. _Head Archivist._ It felt strangely right, like coming home after a long day.

Pride, he was sure, and Elias' words were just feeding it. Jon sighs, "I still hate you and I still have questions."

"Of course you do, but let's celebrate first, shall we? I'll order something." Elias' phone is out before Jon can refuse. Elias had the strange ability to order for people expertly, so much so Jon gave up trying to give him a preference. "I have Sasha and Martin settled, by and by. Have you spoken to Tim yet?"

"No- how did you know I was going to ask Tim?" Jon asks and watches Elias' lips quirk faintly.

"Lucky guess."

\---

Ever since his promotion he had more reason to go to Elias' office, usually to complain about something Elias would ultimately dismiss or pass on reports and information. Several times they argued, or _Jon_ argued, usually about the stray Leitners Elias clearly weren't treating as seriously as he should.

("We're not some paranormal swat team, Jon, that isn't how our Institute works."

"That doesn't mean we can't make more of an effort to take them out of circulation. Just look at this, only a few statements in and _two_ Leitners unaccounted for-"

"Fine, lord you won't let up, will you? I'll see what I can do about it."

"That's all I ask.")

Now his request was stranger, and the chill of Prentiss' message on Martin's phone was still running down his spine. _The Archivist's crimson fate._ It was preposterous, pretentious and far too effective.

"Is something wrong, Jon? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Elias always did look perfectly at home behind his desk, not a hair out of place and fingers intertwined over documents and memos. He regards Jon as he walks in, making a point to close the door behind him.

"You're not funny." Jon doesn't bother putting much feeling behind it, and Elias' smile is faint. He gestures for Jon to sit and Jon does. "I want Martin to stay in the Archives. He can use that room I sleep in when-"

"When you shouldn't be."

"-when I stay late." Jon cuts that long standing argument off as quickly as he can. "He'll be safer here, even if all this worm business sounds like nonsense someone _does_ have his phone and is sending threats."

Elias' eyes never leave him as he speaks, and if he wasn't used to it by now Jon would find it unnerving. Sometimes it still is, in some way, sometimes he finds himself glancing away rather than meeting Elias' gaze. Sometimes he swears he can still feel it as goosebumps down his neck.

Ridiculous, of course. 

"Why do you think he'll be safer here?" Of all the things Elias could ask that surprises Jon, makes him blink against Elias' bland but steady look. 

"Well... well we could keep an eye on him, and-"

"There are hotels nearby, or people who live close who may be willing to take him in. Have you asked Sasha or Tim?" Elias interrupts and Jon's shoulders tense. "If he was staying here we have empty rooms on the upper levels that are likely more comfortable than the Archives."

"No." Jon surprises himself with that sudden interjection, stunned to a second of silence as Elias regards him just as closely as before. "No, it... hotels would be more traveling, so more time where he'd be vulnerable while we still don't know what we're dealing with. Staying with Sasha or Tim could put them in danger too, if Martin's already been targeted."

"And why not the upper levels?" Elias' tone is patient in a way that Jon wants to be irritated at yet somehow is grateful for.

Maybe because he didn't know how to answer. "He knows the Archives better." It's a weak attempt, and Jon swallows the strange feeling that Martin simply _would_ be safer there, and that was all there was to it. Elias says nothing, forcing Jon to confront the truth of the matter and worse, say it outloud. "Alright, I don't _know_. I just would feel better if he was in the Archives."

He doesn't look at Elias, a strange feeling of vulnerability sweeping over him and making it difficult to face whatever scrutiny Elias would offer. Elias would have every right to laugh him out of the office, skeptical and evidence obsessed Jonathan Sims offering only some strange gut feeling as reasoning. He'd have every right to demand explanation, to push for an answer Jon simply didn't have.

Instead Elias exhales, the faintest edge of amusement on his tone and something dangerously close to fond. "Alright, he can stay until we figure out what to do next."

This makes Jon look up, surprised despite himself, and Elias' look is just as bland and unassuming as before. Jon opens his mouth, finds himself struggling with what to say before he simply offers, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Elias' lips quirk in that slight way of his, a look that's strangely sharp around the edges at certain angles. "We're a team, afterall. We have to look out for each other."

"I very much hope whatever this is will blow over soon and this sort of 'team spirit' talk will no longer be necessary." Jon sighs, recovers, and Elias shakes his head.

"There's the Jon I know. Go back to work now, will you?"

"Gladly."

\---

The echo of Michael's parting laugh hurts more than the throbbing from Jon's palm.

He sits back, winded despite the fact he barely moved, trembling despite the fact the danger had passed. Blood pours sluggishly from his palm, dribbling onto the floor as it ran between his fingers. He realizes his mind can't fully comprehend _how_ the injury happened, just that he approached Michael brashly and when he reached out those sharp fingers pushed him back. They were skin, he thinks they were skin, yet when they slid over the life line of his palm they came back red and heralded pain.

He wonders if Michael knew it was the lifeline he cut, he wonders if he went and looked it up what would this new line say. 

He's not sure which is more terrifying, Michael shortening it or lengthening it.

When Jon gets to his feet the sudden ache of overly tense muscles snaps him out of his thoughts, lessening the daze and demanding action. He looks around for something to stop the bleeding with, he was never one to carry handkerchiefs of course, and wonders if he can get away with just wrapping it up while the still logical part of his mind knows better. Lord, he hated hospitals, he hated paramedics and prodding and everything that went with it. It was a nice, trivial annoyance, almost like a balm.

He's ready to just use his sleeve when the door opens, the tell tale clack of Elias' shoes preceding his words. "Jon, I told you before you cannot-"

Jon stares like a deer caught in headlights, hastily trying to move his sluggishly bleeding hand out of view. The way Elias stares back is novel, a sharp jab of surprise Jon realizes he's never actually seen on Elias' face. It was rather difficult to get a strong reaction out of the man, of course, his expressions reserved for neutrality, barely concealed frustration and disdain. Rarely Jon will get something like a smile, a little sharp around the edges, but somewhat novel in its' own right.

Before Jon can properly analyze his own strange thought process Elias is through the office and at his side, grip surprisingly firm around Jon's wrist. His expression is no longer surprised but calculating, digging deep, as though he can read that lifeline Jon wondered about. Whatever he finds has his lips thin in irritation.

"E-Elias, I-" It's a little too late to play it off as completely normal, given the long silence before Jon found his voice again. Still he tries, pulling at his wrist but giving up when Elias' grip tightens a warning fraction. "Just a... little scrape, that's all. Making ah, making food, I came in here thinking there may be a first aid kit somewhere, didn't want to bother..."

When Elias looks up at him his gaze is piercing before the moment passes, the stony quality to Elias' features returning to a more familiar set. "Indeed. Funny, I don't remember seeing you in the break area earlier."

"Even you miss things." Something funny crosses Elias' face when Jon says as much, and Elias releases an amused breath.

"... So it would seem."

For better or worse Martin found his way into the room after, going into a fullblown panic and refusing any of Jon's excuses until he had Jon properly badgered into going to a doctor. The cut- or stab?- needed five stitches in the end, and absolutely no one believed his story no matter how much conviction he put behind his words. Tim regarded him with even more open disdain, Martin with more open concern, and Sasha with faint curiosity.

Elias drops by the day after the bandages come off, taking Jon's wrist again without so much as a hello. The sudden action makes Jon choke on whatever greeting he was going offer, the contact both unnerving in his heightened state of paranoia and-

He tries to kill the rest of the thought before it takes root, an effort destroyed by the way Elias' thumb shifts slightly, gently, up his pulse. A simple mistake, and Elias was nothing more than another suspect and yet his skin tingles like it hasn't felt something so kind in a while. It hasn't- he hasn't, he knows as much. It's been such a long time since he felt safe, since any touch lingered for more than an awkward moment of forced pleasantry.

"This will be a nasty scar." Elias breaks him out of the thought, and Jon finds he can't bring himself to glance up at Elias' face. Elias hasn't let go of his wrist yet, it's far too long for such a casual touch to be appropriate, and the ridiculous, pathetic impulse inside Jon's chest tells him he'll break the spell if he looks up. He can't, not yet, just a little bit longer wouldn't hurt.

"You need to be more careful, Jon." Elias' ton is neutral but Jon swears there's something there, maybe a shadow of annoyance at whatever rumor he believes about the injury. Self inflicted in a moment of madness was a popular one for those more interested in drama, a stupid accident was one he preferred, even if the details people made up about it hardly painted him in the brightest light.

Jon swallows, staying still. Elias' hand is still so warm around his wrist. "I'll... I'll try to keep my sandwich making accident free, in the future."

Elias huffs something like laugh, the closest thing to a laugh someone like Elias would give, and Jon's paranoia begins festering under his skin again. Why was Elias here, why did he care about a stupid accident they already cleared up, what purpose could he have for coming to visit now when he typically kept his distance and allowed Jon to come to him?

As though that though breaks the moment Elias lets go, leaving Jon with a feeling of loss and questions churning in his head. Before he turns to leave Elias places a package of handkerchiefs down on the desk.

"What is-"

"They're useful to have around, aren't they?" Elias dismisses Jon's question before it's even fully formed. His smile has the slightest edge, or so Jon imagines. "Come by for lunch later, Jon, unless you'd prefer Martin's brand of wrought concern."

"... I'll think about it." Jon murmurs as Elias clicks his tongue and walks away. He regards the gift, a nicer silk than he would have expected, and has the very distinct feeling he missed something.

\---

There's flecks of Leitner's blood on his shoe from Jon's hasty escape. He's blocks away from the Institute now, his head pounding and the meaty pulp that was his childhood boogeyman's corpse there every time he closes his eyes. It scares him, the way some deep, dark part of him thinks _serves him right._ It feeds something he tries to choke down with a gasp as he crouches and catches his breath.

He needs to clean the blood off before he- he what? He can't go home, he has no friends, he has no family, he has his _job_ which now no longer has. The money he has on him isn't enough for even a cheap room in London. Jon almost laughs at the thought of all the people in his academic career, telling him he'd end up nowhere pursuing a career with the supernatural, with the Institute.

They were more right than they knew and far less accurate than Jon could have hoped. He would have preferred simple homelessness to this.

He reaches into his pocket without thinking, fingers brushing the fine handkerchief Elias gave him what felt like a lifetime ago. It was though, a lifetime, one where he blissfully believed Sasha was alive and Elias' worst quality was bureaucratic nagging, where the idea Elias could kill was still tempered with disbelief despite Jon's paranoia.

The handkerchief cleans the slight splatter of blood away, leaving smears that looked muddy in the dark of the alley. Elias was right about one thing, he thinks with a hysterical edge, handkerchiefs were useful to have around.

He throws the bloody one out as soon as he gets the chance but keeps the other that came in the set. For once he spares himself from analyzing why.

**Author's Note:**

> no beta reader and no idea what i'm doing. i wanted to write ship shit and ended up with this instead ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
